


if the stars we used to wish on (disappear into the night)

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [21]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Can't believe that's a tag, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Good Friend Roy Harper, Hallucinations, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), but this is me so obviously he gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24895813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: "Bruce had told him he would deliver the rest of Dick’s belongings to him, which obviously meant that Dick was no longer welcome in the Manor or the Cave.Or Gotham, if Dick was being honest with himself.He had to leave. That was the clearest path ahead of him. He could no longer stay in this apartment, in this city. He had to start somewhere anew, get away from it all, or else he would go insane."After a conversation with Bruce, Dick leaves behind everything to do with the Bats. But was that really Bruce he'd spoken with?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622032
Comments: 65
Kudos: 719
Collections: Dick & Ensemble, everybody loves dick





	if the stars we used to wish on (disappear into the night)

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Hallucination" square on my Batman Bingo card!!! Four squares left, guys!!!
> 
> First time writing Roy and Lian so pls go easy on me. I have no idea how I went with their characterisation, but I've plucked Roy mostly out of Outsiders and Lian is sort of an aged up version of her character in Titans.
> 
> **Warnings:**  
>  \- Feelings of self-loathing, self-deprecating thoughts, etc. Certain actions that can be considered self harm: tugging on hair until it hurts, digging nails into palm (each happen once and not very graphic).  
> \- Character having a panic attack. Scene between the ***. Let me know if you want me to summarise the scene for you.  
> \- Fair amount of vomiting, but no graphic descriptions.  
> \- Discussion of Bruce's firing of Dick, and other bad parenting (note: this doesn't touch on anything physical).
> 
> Title and opening quote from So Will I by Ben Platt.
> 
> Disclaimer: DC isn't mine <(^_^<) <(^_^)> (>^_^)>

THIS FANFICTION IS HOSTED ON **ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN** , WHERE YOU CAN READ IT FOR **FREE**. IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON A DIFFERENT WEBSITE, IT WAS POSTED THERE **WITHOUT** THE AUTHOR’S CONSENT.

_"That the sky will still be up there_

_And the sun will always shine_

_The stars will keep on falling_

_For the ones who wish at night_

_The mountains won't start moving_

_And the rivers won't run dry_

_The world will always be there_

_And so will I"_

“Dick, I hadn’t wanted it to be like this.” Bruce’s voice was condescending. He spoke in a way he’d never spoken to Dick before, and Dick’s heart was galloping in his chest as dread filled his stomach. “I just thought…” He sighed.

Dick didn’t want an answer, but he asked the question anyway: “You thought what?” His voice was surprisingly level, despite how small it was.

Bruce gazed at him, almost like he pitied him. “I tried to be gentle about it,” he said. “I thought that when I fired you – and _twice_ , too,” he snorted a little “—you’d get the message. You’d understand that I only ever needed – or _wanted_ – you by my side as a partner. Or, a sidekick, really. Nothing more. And yet, here you are, still trailing behind this ‘family’ of mine like you have a right to any of them. Do you think they don’t see how desperate you are? If you truly haven’t noticed how one-sided this relationship the rest of them have with you is, then you aren’t as good a detective as I’d considered you to be.”

Dick swallowed roughly, trying to dislodge the giant lump in it before speaking. “But you _did_ bring me into the family. Officially.” He didn’t know why he said it. An attempt to understand, perhaps? To see where things had started going wrong?

Bruce was taking off his cowl now, running a hand through his hair in an effort to rid it of the cowl’s effects.

“I needed an heir, as I said at the time. You were never first choice; and now that I have Tim to run the company after I’m gone, and Cassandra to carry on as Batman, I don’t have any need for you as an heir. You don’t need to worry about anything - I’ll make sure the adoption papers disappear. No one will remember that you were ever adopted by me.

“And after all the mistakes you’ve made, surely you don’t think I’m going to let you work alongside us. I need the best, Dick, and you've been slipping lately. You know it as well as I do.”

Dick’s breath was coming out in sharp bursts. His throat had gone completely dry. He backed a step, swallowing before opening his mouth. When nothing came out, he gave Bruce a single nod of acknowledgement, watching as the wrinkles on the man’s face smooth out in obvious relief that he’d… _gotten through_.

“I’ll post your belongings to your flat,” Bruce said, not unkindly.

He was already turning away, towards the Batcomputer. The computer that Dick had named. He wondered if the rest of them called it that, if they used any of the other terms and phrases Dick had come up with, or if it was just him.

Dick couldn’t remember taking the steps towards his bike, but he was driving out of the Cave for what was probably the final time almost without realising.

* * *

Dick couldn’t remember getting home, the entire trip a numb haze. He woke up well into the afternoon the following day, mouth dry as a desert and tasting… off. Any suspicions he might’ve had, however, any thoughts, all vanished at the thought of the previous night, and his stomach lurched.

Dick scrambled off the bed, one hand stretching out to stop himself from slamming into a wall as his head spun. He took one moment to draw in an even breath, hoping his stomach would calm down, before continuing the uneven dash towards the bathroom.

He crashed to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, throwing up stomach acid and bile until his stomach was spasming.

He sat there on the cool bathroom tiles long after he’d finished throwing up. Because he had absolutely no idea what to do now.

Bruce had told him he would deliver the rest of Dick’s belongings to him, which obviously meant that Dick was no longer welcome in the Manor or the Cave.

Or Gotham, if Dick was being honest with himself.

He had to leave. That was the clearest path ahead of him. He could no longer stay in this apartment, in this city. He had to start somewhere anew, get away from it all, or else he would go insane.

Dick wondered where the signs had been, that he’d missed.

When he finally glanced up, a pang of hunger sharp enough to pierce through the fog in his mind, he realised he’d been sitting there for well over an hour.

There was no motivation to move, to get up. Dick did so anyway. He mechanically toasted bread, buttering it up and chewing. He used a glass of milk to swallow down the lumps of food in his mouth when his chewing wasn’t enough to get it down.

His mind kept flitting back to the fact that he had to _leave_. 

Dick began immediately. He called his landlord, giving his notice. He knocked on the door of that nice lady across from him, whose kids he’d babysat a couple times, asking her to watch for the box of belongings that might arrive, to send it to an address he scrawled on a piece of paper. He didn’t want to leave any trail of where he would be going.

There was also the fact that he didn’t quite know, either.

He methodically packed everything of his, called a removalist to take all his furniture to the nearest Goodwill. Dick had moved way too many times in his life to not know the exact measures to take, to not already have a bunch of numbers saved on his phone. It honestly seemed like too many of the moves in his life were like this.

Dick wondered what it’d be like to move to a new place with others helping, people laughing and carrying boxes up and down the stairs, setting up furniture and debating interior design. Tim’s shift to his second apartment had been like that, with all his siblings coming round mostly to judge the place and eat pizza, Kon and Cassie ending up doing more of the work than strictly their share with Bart darting around the place with a broom.

It _hurt_ , to think about that day, when previously it’d brought a genuine smile to Dick’s face. He pushed the memory to the farthest corner of his mind and gave in to the part of him that wanted to keep it safe and hidden instead of doing his best to discard it.

Dick packed a duffel bag of his belongings and put the rest in storage. It took two trips to the nearest place outside the city that had a spare spot, but he did it anyway. By the time everything was done, it was nearing three in the morning.

On any other day, Dick would’ve been in the middle of patrol at this hour.

He didn’t want to think about how he’d likely never fly the Gotham rooftops ever again. Instead, he didn’t look back at the apartment building before closed the door, sliding the key and a wad of cash that was the rent for the next two weeks under his landlord’s door. He swung a leg over his bike, picked a direction, and started driving.

* * *

Dick couldn’t really keep track of time, but he attested that to his current mental state. He was also constantly nauseous, but maybe that was for the same reason, too.

Both made for a rather bad employee, especially when his stomach turned at the smell of the food they made at the café he got a job in. He was lucky he had the money to make it about another month before he would’ve been _really_ pressed to get a job – it’d taken him about a month to land this one, and even that was purely from luck and a manager who was young enough to be too taken by his smile and the _currently single_ sign apparently hanging round his neck to not offer him a part time position.

It was mindless, repetitive work, and Dick found himself oddly revelling in the minuscule responsibilities that were on his shoulders. He’d worked in a bar before, back in the Haven. This wasn’t _similar_ , per se, but it wasn’t an entirely different world, either.

He got along with everyone, but always said he was busy when they invited him out for drinks or lunch.

One of his co-workers showed him photos of her son, and his hand almost reached into his pocket to show her pictures of Damian before he realised what he was doing and excused himself.

He hadn’t let himself think about Damian since he'd left.

* * *

He resigned from the job after he realised that the manager who had hired him was intent on asking him out, giving him positions in the café to ensure he be near her workstation whenever they had shifts overlapping.

The thought of Clark, of the Titans, crossed his mind this time. Dick immediately ruled Clark out. He didn’t want to go to him and tell him what Bruce had said, couldn’t handle the _shame_ and _embarrassment_ of that.

Instead, he found himself knocking on Roy’s door. Roy, who’d had a tumultuous relationship with Ollie for what seemed like ever and was only just beginning to really move into something of an understanding with him. Roy might want to take the two-day drive to Gotham and shoot an arrow into Bruce’s throat, but he wouldn’t _pity_ Dick like others might.

It was Lian who opened the door, face lighting up when she saw him.

“Uncle Dick!” she screeched, launching herself at him.

Dick caught her, clutching her tight and swinging her round. His face stretched strangely; he was smiling a genuine smile for the first time in a month and a half.

“Hey, peanut,” he said. “Good to see you too.”

“Dick?”

Dick glanced up to see Roy at the door, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, Roy.”

“Daddy, I checked with the eyehole and everything,” Lian told Roy, wriggling out of Dick’s grip and yanking him through the doorway. “I _knew_ it was Uncle Dick before I opened the door.”

Roy huffed a laugh. “Okay, I believe you,” he said, ruffling her hair.

Lian fixed it back up with a glare and a huff, chattering away as she went into the living room.

“Been a while,” Roy commented as Dick toed off his shoes. “You missed Lian’s half-birthday.”

Dick gave a small laugh. “I can’t believe you’re still doing those.”

Roy snorted. “She’s got her whole _class_ doing them. The other kids think it’s unfair Lian gets to have four birthday cakes a year while they only get one. Parents _hate_ me.”

Dick smiled. It was _nice_ , being around a friend, after weeks of being in a strange city around strangers with no night life to take his mind off things.

“Sit tight. Lian’s got a play date and I need to drop her off.” Roy paused, looking at him consideringly. “Actually, never mind, you’re coming with.” When Dick opened his mouth to argue, he shook his head, instead pointing towards the fridge. “There’s leftover cake in there, if you’re hungry now.”

Dick didn’t eat the cake, because he hadn’t properly eaten since he’d set off and cake with that much icing on an empty stomach was bound to be a bad idea. Instead, he found a packet of saltines and took out a single piece, chewing carefully as he looked around the living room.

There was a typical couch in front of the television set, and a video game console beneath it with two controllers plugged in and charging. One had joysticks made to look like tiny goldfish. There was a giant homemade dollhouse in another corner, which Dick knew was Lian’s headquarters for her superhero team. She had action figures of her favourite heroes and villains, all ready to go, and changed team names every other day.

Dick had just gotten halfway through a second saltine when Roy emerged with Lian in a sparkly tutu over a Red Arrow costume, complete with bow and arrow set. He had a tiny backpack in hand.

“Grab the pack,” he told Dick, nodding to the saltines.

Dick complied, settling into the passenger seat of the car as Roy watched Lian buckle up. The ride to her friend’s house was filled with chatter and answering the strange sort of questions eight-year-olds were prone to ask.

Dick stayed in the car and watched as Roy walked Lian to the door, conversing with the parent answering the door. He disappeared inside for a moment, and then Roy was opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

They drove wordlessly until Roy got to an empty playground, parking the car in the empty lot and turning off the engine.

“So,” he said, turning to Dick. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I…” Dick’s throat closed up and he bit his tongue, doing his best to keep everything welling up inside him at bay.

“Aw, Rob…” Roy leaned over, tugging him into an awkward hug.

“I’m sorry,” Dick mumbled into his shoulder. “Coming to you like this, out of nowhere, just to drop my problems—”

“Shut up,” Roy murmured. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

The handbrake was digging into Dick’s thigh, but he ignored it as he spoke. “Bruce, he…” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to put into words exactly what Bruce had said. He tried anyway, not knowing how coherent the words were.

By the time he’d finished, Roy’s face was dark and eyes murderous. But his words were the opposite of what Dick was expecting.

“Yesterday,” he said carefully, “I got a call. From Jason. Apparently, no one – not even Bruce – has seen you since you went out on patrol almost two months ago.”

“Almost two months?” Dick frowned.

“A month and three weeks. The eighteenth.”

Dick drew back. That didn’t track right. Dick had been in the Cave for the last time exactly a week from that date.

“Everything else in your story matches. They traced your stuff to the storage facility, talked to your landlord and neighbours.” Roy looked at him thoughtfully. “What were you doing for a whole week, Dick?”

“I have no idea,” Dick said. “All I remember is…”

He frowned, but at that moment, his stomach decided to turn against him once again, not liking even the half packet of saltines he’d finished by this point. Dick scrabbled at the door handle, shoving it open and leaping out. His head throbbed in the background as he threw up everything he’d eaten that day, his body churning out strings of bile until it finally stopped.

Roy was standing beside him when he straightened. He handed Dick a bottle of water, which Dick used to clean up the inside of his mouth, swallowing a tiny sip before handing it back.

“Okay, we’re gonna go back to my place now,” Roy said, “and see if we can get something solid to stay in you, because judging from the fact that you’re practically a skeleton, I’d say that this has become pretty common.”

Dick shrugged. “Stress, maybe,” he said.

Roy gave him a look. “You never used to throw up from stress. Not even Bruce related stress.”

Dick didn’t respond, following Roy back into the car as they drove to his place.

What was he doing here, visiting Roy? What did he hope to accomplish from it? Roy had a life here, needed for things to be stable for Lian, and Dick had come in without a second thought.

_Selfish_.

No wonder Bruce had never wanted him to be part of his family, of the network he’d built.

Dick resolved to leave the following morning, no matter what Roy said. He’d probably have to sneak out, because Roy had that look on his face, the one that said that he didn’t plan on letting Dick vanish so soon.

But they weren’t kids anymore. It wasn’t Roy’s place to take care of Dick.

Roy got Dick to sit at the counter and try some oatmeal. Warm and solid, he said. Dick knew he wouldn’t be able to keep most of it down, but he tried with absolutely tiny mouthfuls anyway.

Conversation went to the rest of the Titans, to Ollie and Dinah and Mia and Connor, to the video game Roy had gotten Dick for his birthday. Roy talked about Lian in every second sentence. Dick hadn’t even realised that he was lowering his guard until there was a knock at the door.

He tensed, eyes glancing over.

Roy went to answer it without hesitation.

Dick heard Lian’s distinctive voice as she greeted Roy, and was about to relax, thinking it was just a parent dropping her off, when there was a heavier set of footsteps following Roy and Lian’s.

Jason walked into the room. In his hands was a bike helmet and a shoulder bag. He froze at the sight of Dick at the kitchen countertop.

Before either of them could say anything, Roy entered the room, Lian happily skipping away into her bedroom to change out of the costume.

“Dick, before you start yelling,” Roy said, “technically, I didn’t tell him you were here.”

Dick unclenched his jaw. “Roy, this isn’t going to fix anything.”

“I know you Bats carry around a blood testing kit,” Roy continued as though Dick hadn’t spoken, “so I asked Jay to bring his medkit. No one's gonna force you to do anything, or go anywhere. I just wanna make sure there's nothing in your system, okay? Your symptoms aren't fudging normal.”

Jason wordlessly deposited the bag onto the coffee table, standing by the side with his arms crossed.

“What the fuck even happened, Dickwing, you just decide to up and leave in the middle of the night?” he said. “ _Bruce_ called me, if you can fucking believe it.”

Roy shot him a look. “ _Language_ ,” he said.

Jason shot Dick a look, mouthing ‘Alfred’ as he shook his head. Dick looked away when before he would’ve at least cracked a smile.

Roy was still speaking: “And let’s just not talk about the Bat brood till after the tests.”

* * *

There was a hallucinogen in Dick’s system. Slow burning and deadly. It was why he hadn’t been able to keep food down for long since that night. He’d probably be dead in another month if they didn’t get it out of his system.

Dick didn’t know whether he should be relieved. He didn’t want to _hope_. There was still no guarantee that that night had been a hallucination. He refused to give in to the belief that it might’ve been, to let that part of him that was so shaken over this, over the thought that Bruce had never loved him, had never wanted him as a son and now was too disappointed in him to even have Dick as a partner, have free reign over his imagination to even contemplate the idea that they were looking for him because he’d disappeared with no warning.

Jason was eyeing the results critically. “Some parts of this are fear toxin,” he was saying, but Dick barely heard him.

“You two can make an antitoxin, though, right?” Roy replied. He was at the stove, stirring something that, objectively, probably smelled good, but made Dick breathe shallowly in an attempt to keep the oatmeal down for a little longer.

Dick tried to focus back on the conversation. “Not with the supplies we have here,” he said. “At least, not with the supplies I know about.”

“And you’re still refusing to come back to Gotham?” Jason hadn’t yet tried asking about what it was that had made Dick run.

Dick didn’t know what he’d say if Jason did.

“Jay, can you access the Cave’s recordings for the twenty-fifth of last month?” Roy asked, looking at Dick as he spoke.

Jason frowned. “Yeah. Been on good terms with Red for a while. But I need to know why, because he’ll ask me why.”

Dick knew as well as Roy probably did that Jason would never give an answer to that question if he didn’t want to. He finally addressed Jason as he spoke. “I’ll tell you once I see the tape. If it has what I’m mostly sure is on it, then you won’t need the explanation, believe me,” he added a little derisively.

Jason gazed at Dick, about to say something, when his eyes snapped towards Roy and his mouth twisted at whatever it was that he saw there.

“Fine,” he snapped, whipping out his phone. “But it better be a good f- _udging_ explanation.”

Dick only rubbed at the bridge of his nose in response, burying the lower half of his face in his hands. He tried to ignore Tim’s audible voice on the other end of the call, but the pang of homesickness was so sudden that he couldn’t be sure his face hadn’t betrayed him.

“Hey,” Roy said softly, as Jason spoke on the phone. “I don’t know when you slept last, but you look like absolute horse shit.”

“You’ll slip up if you use bad words around us when Lian’s asleep,” Dick said absentmindedly.

“Let me worry about that,” Roy said dismissively. “Go get a couple hours. That’s not a request. I’ll wake you once we’ve made sure the video hasn’t been tampered with.”

Dick couldn’t help his eyes from flashing towards Jason for the briefest of seconds. Bruce would be horrified by how he was wearing not only his heart, but also all his _thoughts_ , on his sleeve.

“And I won’t let Jason see it till after you have, a’ight?” Roy added. “Do I have permission to see it?”

Dick hesitated, then nodded. “Just enough to verify whether my version of events is correct.” Despite having given Roy a retelling of what Bruce had said, he’d mellowed it out a little, skimmed over things. He probably could’ve recited from memory every word, but everyone had their limits when it came to sympathy, and he couldn’t bear to see Roy’s tip over into feeling _sorry_ for him.

Dick, the poor schmuck who hadn’t realised for twenty-odd years that the people he’d spent so long loudly proclaiming to be his family didn’t actually want him in theirs. He'd been right, all those times, when he'd made a mistake and been struck with the fear that this was it, this was finally the straw that would send Bruce over the edge and finally tell him to leave. He just wished he knew what he'd done, which slip had finally been the catalyst.

He left to use the bathroom, slipping out the spare mattress that lay under Roy’s bed. He didn’t think he’d properly slept in two days – the last real night’s sleep he’d had was back before he’d resigned, and Dick had left immediately after, seeing no reason to continue lingering.

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, mind churning over hopeful scenarios that he didn’t want to humour, but with food in his stomach that had stayed there longer than usual, he was out quickly.

Nightmares had always plagued him, but ever since _then_ , they’d been worse. Dreams had become much more vivid, good scenarios scarce, practically non-existent. He knew why, now.

Tonight’s was no better. Visions of watching each family member (well, _ex_ family member) dying in gory ways, his parents falling to their deaths again, friends and teammates being killed as he watched, helpless. There was the vision of how it had felt to beat the Joker to death, the horror of knowing he’d killed a man, regardless of who it was, the sensation of rain beating down upon him as Blockbuster was killed and Tarantula led him away to do whatever she wanted with him. Those were heightened, with the smell and sound feeling almost as though he was experiencing it.

In addition, there were now the nightmares where he found himself before his parents, who repeated Bruce’s words back to him before they walked away without a single look back. Bruce told him he was a disappointment and a failure, over and over, outlining each incident where Dick had been subpar at best. Bludhaven blew up again and again before him.

Dick woke up to Jason calling his name. His eyes were wet when he tried to blink the last vestiges of sleep away. Dick jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, trying to control his breathing.

And his stomach.

As it had every night for the last six weeks, Dick’s stomach rebelled, and he made what he hoped was the last half-awake rush to the bathroom.

There was a glass of water by the basin when Dick had flushed the toilet, and Jason was nowhere to be seen. Dick rifled through the drawers, hoping Roy would be okay with him borrowing a spare toothbrush. He was sick of the stale taste on his tongue, but with throwing up at least once a day – depending on how much he ate, really – there was nothing to be done about it other than constantly brushing his teeth or using mouthwash.

Both Roy and Jason looked up from where they were seated in front of the TV when Dick walked in.

Roy rose. “You gotta eat,” he said, already rifling through his cupboards for another sachet of oatmeal. “I don’t care if you throw it back up. You look anorexic.”

Dick sighed. “Can I see the video first?”

Jason turned the laptop on the coffee table around to face Dick, who came and sat down beside him.

“You’ve watched it?” he asked, even as he fast-forwarded through the video, making sure it wasn’t visible to Jason.

Roy shook his head. “Tim sent it right before you woke up. Apparently the crime level in Gotham’s gone up.”

Despite everything, Dick felt his anxiety rise. “Breakout?” he asked, turning to Jason. _Is everyone okay?_

“Nothing too major,” Jason said. “And no serious injuries. Think the worst since you’ve disappeared was the brat’s ego after Tim beat him at hand-to-hand.”

Dick smiled despite everything, and Roy snorted, muttering darkly under his breath about loyalty and _damn Bats_. It was nothing Dick hadn’t heard plenty of since their time as Teen Titans, but it always made his skin itch, the need to defend Bruce always dominant regardless of how Roy – and the rest of his friends – would often voice the thoughts of his subconscious.

Dick tuned out whatever it was that Jason and Roy were talking about, grabbing the earphones that were lying on the table and putting them in. He turned the sound on the lowest it could be while still audible to him, not wanting to risk them overhearing.

But it never came. The cameras in the Cave showed a typical night of patrol, one of the tamer ones by far. Bruce and Damian came and went, Alfred showing up from time to time. No one else was in the Cave but the three of them, and Batcow.

Dick checked the date again, heart pounding in his chest.

“Dick?” Roy said slowly.

Dick hadn’t realised that his breathing had picked up. “This hasn’t been tampered with?” he said in lieu of response.

“Nope,” Jason told him. “Raw and unedited. All cameras. Replacement promised, and then we checked again.”

***

Dick was… Dick was trying to draw in a breath, because suddenly he couldn’t get in a good lungful of air, and he couldn’t _think_ straight because all these weeks of believing that Bruce had never cared for him, had never considered him part of his family, had discarded him like he was an old model of the Batmobile, or _worse_ , a broken grapple gun… for what, exactly? For absolutely no reason.

He had run, leaving behind his whole damn _life_ , all because of a hallucinated conversation. He was an idiot. No wonder Bruce—

But no. Bruce _hadn’t_ said those things to him. He _hadn’t_ thrown him out for one final time.

_Maybe he should’ve_ , said the part of Dick that’d had absolutely no trouble believing Bruce’s words were real.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out for until he finally registered Roy’s voice, telling him to follow his breathing. And that was when Dick realised he was in the middle of what was probably a panic attack.

He shoved all thoughts of Bruce and that night – that apparently _fake_ night – out of his head, tried to follow Roy’s instructions as he asked Dick for smells and sounds. Jason was still sitting there, unreadable expression on his face, when he finally came out of it.

***

“You okay now?” Roy asked softly.

Dick nodded, even as he ducked his head and buried his hands in his hair, tugging at the strands until it hurt.

“What was on the recording?” Jason asked, in the same tone Roy had, like he was talking to a victim while out on patrol.

Dick hadn’t wanted for Jason to see him like this. For any of his younger siblings to see him like that (his stomach did a backflip at being able to call them that again, after a month of steering his thoughts clear of any familial terms). He wondered what Roy had told Jason, about the situation.

“Not what I thought,” Dick said, knowing he’d have to elaborate for Jason. But the breath that Roy sucked in, the squeeze of his knee, told him that Roy got it, understood what was running through Dick’s head.

“Enlightening,” Jason said drily. “In a good way?”

Dick nodded, still gazing down at the ground between his knees. He felt hands coming to his own, stilling them from tugging at his strands of hair. After a moment, he lowered them, but didn’t lift his head.

“So do I get an explanation before I call Bruce and let him know you’re alive?” Jason said in an overly casual tone.

Dick let a long breath out of his nose. He’d promised Jason an answer. He had to deliver one. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he said, “Apparently I hallucinated that Bruce… basically kicked me out again. Disowned me, the whole deal. Said a bunch of other things too while he was at it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jason open his mouth, blink, before closing it again. “Wait,” Jason said, frowning. “Again?”

Now Dick was the one who frowned in confusion. “Yeah?” he said. “Come on, don’t tell me this is news to you.”

“When the fuck did he kick you out before?” Jason demanded.

“You’re serious.” Dick stared at him. “What did Bruce tell you I did when you first came to the Manor, just… _move out?_ At barely seventeen?”

“Bruce _kicked you out_ when you decided you didn’t want to be Robin?”

“Hoo boy,” Roy muttered from beside them. “I’m gonna get us something to eat, since majority here don’t drink.”

“I didn’t really… _decide_ to stop being Robin, okay?” Dick said. He could already feel an awkward grimace growing on his face no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

“Bruce decided for you,” Jason said flatly. “Fucking hell, this fills in so many personality plot-holes. For both of you.”

“Look,” Dick said, “none of that is relevant right now. I don’t want to go into old history we’ve already sorted out—”

“Have you?” Jason interrupted. “You expect me to believe you and emotionally incompetent Batman have _talked_ through all the dumb shit he’s pulled?”

Dick sighed. “Okay, exaggeration, maybe. It’s in the past, is what I meant. You can’t stay stuck in the past, or else you’ll—”

“Become like Bruce,” Jason and Roy said simultaneously, and Dick snorted.

“Isn’t Lian asleep?” he said. “You two are gonna wake her up with all this racket you’re making.”

Roy handed the three of them bowls of oatmeal. Jason wrinkled his nose at the gloopy concoction.

“We aren’t all chucking up everything we eat, y’know,” he commented, watching it fall from his spoon as he raised it slightly. After licking it off the spoon a little, he added, “You got sugar or honey or, like, literally anything sweet to go in this?”

“This stuff already _has_ honey in it, you realise,” Roy said, even as he pointed out where the sugar was kept.

Dick spooned a tiny bit of oatmeal into his mouth. His stomach gurgled, either out of hunger or in disagreement with what it suspected he was about to put into it. “What do they think happened to me?” he asked.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to Damian, for leaving like that, jumping to conclusions.

Jason shrugged. “Kidnapping. Working undercover.” He stirred another two spoonfuls of sugar into his oatmeal. “Went through all the cases you’ve worked recently, but there wasn’t really anything to pinpoint a cause for you going AWOL, especially so… methodically.”

Dick nibbled a little bit more of the oatmeal. He contemplated mixing in some of that sugar from the container Jason was intent on finishing up entirely, but decided against it.

In the end, they flew back to Gotham, Jason calling Bruce from Roy’s place and sending ahead the bloodwork so they could get started on an antitoxin. Bruce would know the second the file came into the system that it was Dick’s blood. Part of Dick was glad he wouldn’t have to explain everything from scratch.

Driving into the Manor set off an amalgamation of mixed feelings within Dick, emotions that he wasn’t going to touch with a ten-foot pole until he was alone, preferably swinging from rooftops. He had never been more relieved that Tim usually stayed in his apartment on weekdays, that Damian was at school now. He didn’t think he could handle facing all of them at once.

Alfred was waiting for them when they pulled up to the front steps of the Manor.

“Dear boy,” he said when Dick jogged up the stairs, never one for delaying the inevitable. “It’s good to have you home.”

Dick couldn’t respond, burying his face into Alfred’s shoulder to hide how hard he was biting his lip. He’d said goodbye to all of them, internally, when he’d left. The thought of having it all back now was almost too much to comprehend.

“Master Jason,” Alfred said with a warm smile. “It’s good to have you home as well. You’re just in luck, actually.”

Jason’s eyes lit up as they walked into the house. “You’ve been baking?” he asked, though it was obvious by the smell permeating the house. “Holy shit, and there’s no one else home.”

Alfred’s mouth thinned. “The swear jar is right beside the oven, my boy. I hope you’ve brought spare change.” He continued on into the house, in lead. “Actually, I was referring to the package of novels I was telling you about when you were over for tea last week.”

“Oh, sweet,” Jason said. “Have you opened it yet?”

“I was waiting for you, actually.”

Dick felt a rush of warmth at the way Jason’s face softened, just slightly, at Alfred’s words.

Alfred then took the turn that would lead to the entrance to the Cave. “Master Bruce has been downstairs synthesising an antitoxin since he received the bloodwork,” he said.

Dick could see, in his eyes, the way Alfred carefully looked at him, noting the thinness, the circles under his eyes from countless sleepless nights. He was glad he’d taken the time to shower and shave at Roy’s. Dick tried not to tense under Alfred’s perceptive gaze as they made their way down the flight of stairs, having to clutch at the side and pause for a moment when his vision went blurry.

“Haven’t been able to keep much down,” Dick said, self-conscious.

“Of course,” Alfred said with a nod. “Fear not, we’ll put you on a regimented diet once the toxin is out of your system.” 

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Dick tried as hard as he could to ignore his increasing heartrate as they got closer and closer to their destination. Even from a distance, he could see Bruce at one of the workstations, bent over a tablet while an array of various liquids was lined up before him.

He looked up when they approached, evidently having been previously unaware that Jason and Dick had arrived.

Dick swallowed hard at the relief on Bruce’s face, naked only to those who knew his expressions. He stood there awkwardly as Bruce rounded the bench, walking to meet them halfway.

“Hey, B,” he said in a stilted voice.

“Dick.” Bruce was critically looking him over even as he stopped in front of him, one hand coming to Dick’s upper arm to gently hold him in place as he gave him a once over. “You’re alright? What happened?”

“I’m okay,” he said, tense as he stood there under Bruce’s scrutiny. “Except for the toxin, but…” He shrugged, trying for a smile.

Bruce saved him the trouble of overthinking a hug and tugged him forward, solid arms going around him. Dick sucked in a wet breath and then, mortified, held it, nails digging into his palms to force himself under control again.

Hugs initiated by Bruce never lasted long, and the mixed signals Dick was sending would only be making Bruce second guess his decision. He drew back, moving back to the workbench and expecting Dick to follow.

Bruce was intent on working on the antitoxin as Dick told him about the last night he could remember before the hallucinated incident, as he was now calling it in his mind.

Alfred and Jason had both lingered around in the Cave, just distant enough that it felt like there was some semblance of privacy, while being within hearing distance. Not that that was very difficult – everything echoed in the Cave.

He brushed over the hallucinated night, but from the way Bruce looked at him, it didn’t escape his notice, and something that had made Dick attempt to cut off every thread tying him to Gotham and the family – both as vigilantes and civilians – wasn’t something he was going to let go without getting an answer that satisfied him.

There were only the vaguest of theories of how Dick had been exposed to the toxin, and the missing week still plagued him. Dick knew that Bruce and the others had probably gone over the time period they thought he’d disappeared in with a fine-tooth comb; he would have to read through all their reports and findings before he began his own investigation.

The hallucinogen that had been in Dick’s system was apparently not as unfamiliar as they’d feared, just made to be longer lasting than anything they typically dealt with. Bruce took blood samples and worked as Dick spoke, seated on the edge of the bench and hunched over.

He tried not to look at the rest of the Cave, because every time he thought about the last time he’d stood here, the nausea rose. According to Bruce, the physical sensations – particularly the association of negative memories with physical sickness – was part of the effect of the toxin, but knowing this didn’t do much to make him feel less sick. 

Alfred brought over an IV line, hooking it up to Dick as he muttered about dehydration and lack of proper nutrition. Dick didn’t want to tell him that his appetite had always been the first thing to take a downward swing whenever his mental state had been less than healthy. Alfred most likely already knew.

Bruce took a couple more blood samples about an hour later, when Dick had finally run out of things he was willing to say at that current moment.

“This will take about another hour,” Bruce told him. “Why don’t you head upstairs, try to get some sleep, maybe eat?”

“Yeah, okay.” Dick swung down from the bench, holding onto it for a moment as his vision went spotty. When he reopened them, Bruce was eyeing him, face too neutral to make out a proper expression. “Haven’t been able to keep much down,” he felt he had to say.

Bruce nodded. “Of course.” He looked like he was about to add something, but then he went back to looking through the tablet before him on the workbench.

Dick was breathing much too hard as he got to the top of the staircase. He grimaced at the thought of the toll this had taken on his fitness level, despite the work he’d continued to do to maintain his flexibility.

Alfred and Jason had at some point moved upstairs. They were in the sunniest living room, which was flooded with rays of light during winter, making the place ideal for now but completely deserted during the day in the warmer months.

He didn’t disturb them, walking as silently as he could into the kitchen to see if he could find a biscuit or two to appease the gurgling in his gut. And then, finally having located a packet of rice crackers, he grabbed two pieces.

The smell coming from the oven was more tempting than anything ever since he’d gotten this toxin in his system. But Dick didn’t want to risk feeling sick from Alfred’s cookies and then forever associating them with it. He steered well away from them, hoping that there’d be some left after the antitoxin had been administered.

Dick headed up to his room, and was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight of all his belongings exactly where he’d placed them. The room had not one speck of dust; Alfred had been here, and regularly.

He closed the door behind him quietly and sat on the bed gazing around. Part of him, even after speaking with Bruce downstairs only moments ago, hadn’t fully believed that his room was still going to be _his room_. He’d been subconsciously bracing himself to open the door into a space as impersonal as any of the dozens of spare rooms in the Manor.

Dick hadn't slept with Zitka since he was twelve, but now he grabbed her from she was seated on his bookshelf, cradling her familiar figure beside him as he slid beneath the sheets.

* * *

Dick apparently slept through the administering of the antitoxin, because when he woke up, there was a Superman band-aid on his arm – Bruce must’ve been in a _very_ generous mood, to be using that pack that one of them had bought as a joke.

His body still tried to throw up non-existent food in his stomach. Dick was so tired of throwing up.

Dick emerged from the bathroom, walking downstairs to the lower floor to see who was about. Maybe Bruce would have a timeframe for when he’d finally stop feeling the effects of the toxin.

He had just rounded the corner into the kitchen when he heard Damian and Tim’s voices, loudly debating whether or not they should go and see him.

“Hey, guys,” he said, stopping beside the doorframe. “Nothing changes, huh.”

Tim’s hair was shorter, now looking more like an eboy haircut than the depressed ninja hairdo he’d been trying out when Dick had last seen him. Damian… had Damian grown taller? He was now nearing Tim’s shoulder.

Dick had missed _so much_ , out of his own stupidity.

Arms wrapping tightly around his middle jerked him out of his thoughts, and his own clung back, muscle memory taking over without hesitation. Damian clung to his shirt like he was trying to bury himself into Dick’s skin, and another wave of self-loathing hit Dick as he saw first-hand what he’d put him through.

What he’d put them all through, for no reason.

“Never do that again,” Damian mumbled into his stomach. “We thought you’d been kidnapped and then killed and placed in a grave too deep to dig yourself out of.”

Dick blinked, looking up at Tim. “Um,” he said. _Weirdly specific_. "I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I promise."

"It wasn't your fault. You were under the influence of a nefarious drug." Damian let go as quickly as he’d initiated the embrace, bustling around the kitchen, evidently putting together a tray of food. "Next time make sure you don't get drugged."

Dick smiled. "I'll do my best, Little D."

Dick turned to Tim, who was far more reserved in his affections but a solid presence nonetheless as Dick buried his face in Tim's hair. Dick had probably hugged Tim the most, amongst his family members; it was the most natural thing in the world to be hugging Tim.

“So, what happened?” Tim asked, poking around the fridge looking for food when they'd broken apart. “Hey, is that tea? Are you making tea?”

“So what if I am?” Damian asked haughtily, clearly heating water on the stove.

“If it’s milk tea, then I want some, too,” Tim said. “I’ll give you one of my share of Alfred’s cookies.”

“Fine.”

“None for me, thanks, Dami,” Dick said quickly before Damian could make him a cup. “Digestion’s not on my side lately.”

“Yes, we know,” Damian told him. “You look like the Drake lookalike on TV.”

Tim lobbed an apple at Damian’s head, which Damian dodged easily, as Dick said, “Who?”

“That actor. Timothy Chameleon or something,” Tim explained, looking embarrassed.

“The French guy?” Dick cocked his head, trying to see the resemblance. “It’s probably the haircut.”

Damian clicked his tongue impatiently as he stirred in various spices. “If Drake were white, they would be twins.”

Tim leaned over to Dick, and said in a low tone, “So Steph found out from someone that they’re thinking of doing another Batman movie, and casting this actor as one of the other vigilantes, so she got Cass to watch his stuff with her, and so obviously Cass made me watch the rest with _her_ , and Damian was with _me_ that day at the office because Bruce had to go on a last-minute trip somewhere, and that was the day I decided to try cutting my hair by myself and then had to go get it fixed because it was wonky…”

The story continued, and Dick listened attentively, even as he pretended to chew on the chocolate wafers Damian had somehow produced before him.

Then Alfred came into the kitchen, from his own kitchen (the one that none of them were allowed to use), with a giant bowl of stew, and set it down onto the counter. And Dick started salivating like he hadn’t in _months_.

* * *

Dick was awoken from another nightmare – or rather, _series_ of nightmares – by a hand shaking his shoulder. He jerked upright, running a hand over his face and wiping any revealing moisture from his eyes. Try as he might, it seemed that the hallucinated events were going to be providing fuel for his nightmares for a long while.

Then he blinked at the figure sitting on the bed beside him. Bruce’s side profile was illuminated only by light coming through the slightest gap in the curtains, allowing moonlight to shine through. That, and the warm, star shaped nightlight that Dick still used when he was in the Manor.

“Bad dream?” Bruce asked, voice a low rumble.

“They started up more after the toxin,” Dick said, staring at his hands. How many nights had he woken himself up from a nightmare, wishing, despite it all, for Bruce to be there, like he’d been there when Dick had been a child who kept seeing his parents falling to their deaths in his sleep? “Guess my brain hasn’t gotten the message that it should be gone by now.”

Bruce grunted a little. “Jason talked to me,” he began, before his mouth twisted a little. “’Talk’ is milder word than it deserves, frankly. He said he was mostly sure that you wouldn’t tell me what you’d hallucinated initially, that made you leave.”

“So he fucking told you.” Tiredness from bad sleep and nightmares gave way to anger. “He had no right to do that.”

“Don’t be angry with him,” Bruce said. “I’m glad he told me. He only knew the general gist of it, too, so it was a mixture of yelling about my parenting, and… firing you that last time.”

Dick rubbed the bridge of his nose, face screwing up as he grimaced. “Dammit, I didn’t want him to go about doing _this_. I just thought he already knew, when I brought it up.” He looked up at Bruce. “B, I’m sorry—”

“No apologising,” Bruce interrupted. “Not from your end, in any case. _I’m_ sorry. When he first told me that you’d… hallucinated that I’d disowned both you and Nightwing, I dismissed it. I thought that surely you’d never believe something so obviously fake.” Bruce gave a humourless laugh. “He really reamed into me after that. And he was right to. I needed to hear it.”

“Bruce…”

Dick didn’t know what he’d been about to say. He was willing to let it die down once more, to remain in the past where it belonged and never dredge it back up again, because he couldn’t handle reopening those old wounds that had taken so long to close, but he was in equal parts still a hopeful child who wanted to hear Bruce apologise and reassure Dick. He wanted to hate that part of himself. Hell, he’d spent the last seven weeks hating that part of himself.

“I was wrong,” Bruce said bluntly. “When I made you leave after taking Robin away from you. I like to think that it was because I thought you’d get yourself a civilian life and be safe, but I’d be lying, both to you and to myself. I’m not proud of my innermost reasons for my behaviour towards you around that time, Dick, you have to believe that.

“I was childish and petulant. You starting to become a real person with a life outside of my own meant that you were spending less and less time in Gotham and with us – with _me_ – and I realise now that my contributions to our disagreements were all stemmed from the panic that you were growing up. It was a stupid reaction, to push you away every chance I got, to try and prove to myself and to you that I didn’t need you.

“I didn’t think about the impact it would have on you, how you would feel. You deserved – _deserve_ – so much better than my terrible excuse for parenting, and… I’m sorry. For making you think, for even a second, that you don’t have a place in this family, that you don’t always have a home here regardless of what I say in the heat of the moment. That I don’t love you, or that I’m not proud of you.”

And then he looked right at Dick, one hand coming to rest on the side of his cheek, thumb coming to wipe at the moisture on Dick's face.

“The hallucinogen combined with the fear toxin was designed to play on your fears, your insecurities. And I haven’t done much to show you that they’re unfounded, have I? I don’t know exactly what you heard me say in the hallucination, and I suspect you’ll never tell me. But I’ll spend as long as it takes to do better, to be more considerate of you and your… personal needs.”

Dick felt like he had to intercede here. “I…” He cleared his throat and swiped a sleeve over his face, glad that there was the darkness to mask the fact that he’d been half sobbing through Bruce’s whole speech. “B, you weren’t… You make it sound like you were an absolute shit parent, but my childhood was _good_. There were some… bad times, sure, but on the whole…” And then his voice sped up with another sudden realisation: “Not that I don’t appreciate you saying all this to me, because I do! It means a lot, especially after… after the last few weeks. And I know how hard this must’ve been for you to say – this is probably the longest I’ve ever even heard you _speak_ , let alone about _emotions_ and _us_ – and—”

“Dick,” Bruce cut in, firmly but gently halting his rambling. “I need you to understand a couple things. First, the good times – and they _were_ good; I don’t disagree – don’t mean that the bad ones weren’t bad. It just means that the bad times should never have been about your place in your home or your place within your family.

“Secondly, hard for me to _talk_ about?” His voice had suddenly become as sad as Dick had ever heard it, wrinkles showing much more starkly than they had a moment ago; Bruce looked his age, in that moment. “It shouldn’t be hard for me to tell you I love you. I’ve known and cared for you almost half my life; anything I’ve ever told myself, for why I could never verbalise a simple three word sentence, for starters, is an excuse for me not stepping out of my comfort zone to meet you at least one step closer. It isn’t fair to have made you do all the work.”

Dick stared at him now. “I know this is a serious and difficult conversation we’re having right now, but I have to ask… did you get therapy or something in the last couple months? You’ve _never_ been this well-adjusted.”

Bruce gave him a sly look. “I’ve been seeing a therapist for about six months. Specifically for parenting reasons at the start but now it’s branched out a little more.”

Dick felt his face break into a grin. “B, holy shit! That’s great! What convinced you?”

The levity that had appeared on Bruce’s face slid away. “A hard conversation with Clark and Ollie and Barry that was long overdue. Much like this one, in fact.”

Dick’s eyebrows rose. “A conversation that had _Ollie_ in it convinced you to go to _therapy?”_ he asked incredulously. “You mind if I share this with Roy?”

“Only if you also mention that Oliver agreed to go to therapy as well.”

Dick whistled. “Whoever this therapist is, they’re gonna be making the big bucks off of you guys alone.”

Bruce grunted. “Brat. And don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject.” He shifted slightly on the bed, one knee folding up so he didn’t have to sit twisted. “Last thing, I promise. Then you can go back to sleep.”

“You look like you practised this in front of the mirror,” Dick said, knee-jerk reflex from how hard his heart was beating. He was going to come out of this conversation with a raised blood pressure, he was sure of it.

“This conversation’s much too important for me to wing it,” Bruce told him drily, before continuing. “I need you to know that you never _earned_ my love. It’s not something that can be earned. It’s freely given. I don’t love you or,” his mouth twisted in distaste, “ _keep you around_ because of how useful you are or what you can do for me, or have done for me. I would’ve adopted you even if you’d decided to never complete high school and gotten a job in the fast food industry and worked for less than minimum wage for the rest of your life and grown a beer gut. It’s not _conditional_. I might not have been as proud of that version of you as I am of the one sitting before me, but I would’ve still loved you. No mistake or slip-up would ever make me question that. Do you understand?”

Dick didn’t say anything, only nodding his head when Bruce looked at his face searchingly.

“Good.” Bruce stood up, bones creaking as he stretched out his spine. “Now, I need to go out on patrol, and you need to catch up on all the sleep you’ve lost.”

He bent down to press his lips to Dick’s hair, and Dick blinked owlishly at the blatant display of affection. Bruce left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and Dick was left alone with his thoughts.

His mind was buzzing, unable to process the conversation that had just taken place. After almost two months of believing that hallucination, it was akin to jumping into hot water after having mild hypothermia.

He needed to talk to someone, because otherwise he’d go insane with the thoughts currently flitting through his head. Dick grabbed his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the bright light.

_B just came in and gave me a 20 min speech on how he was a bad parent and he’s gonna do better now,_ he texted.

Roy responded within seconds. _Fucking finally_ , he said. _Good on him, tho._

_Apparently he’s going to therapy. So’s Ollie_.

_Damn. I need the full story later,_ Roy said. _For betting purposes._

Dick snorted. _W who?_

_The titans. Obvs_

Of course. Who else would be it be?

_Why wasn’t I included?_

_Too much control over Bruce. None of us could really influence him to see a shrink_

The conversation went on, the exact amount of light-hearted that Dick needed after a conversation so gruelling. He knew that Roy was purposely keeping up the mood, and he vowed to send him (and Lian, for missing her half-birthday) something to say thanks.

When he woke up the following day, there was one last text, sent a few hours after he’d fallen asleep, that simply read: _Wally’s a cheat who got Barry involved so now Sharkboy won the bet_ with a rolling-eyes emoticon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! 
> 
> Let me know how in character you thought Bruce was in this, and that giant speech of his that crept in without me having any say lol. I mostly used Adam Beechen's version of Bruce from Tim's Robin comics as a sort of basis for his character (and yes, that's now my excuse for whenever I write mushy, long dialogue Bruce). 
> 
> If you're wondering why I didn't bring up anything regarding Bruce hitting Dick, it's because this was meant to be like a 2k fic to begin with lol, and there's no way I could've fit all of that into this and given it the weight and time it deserves; I do plan on addressing it in much more detail in another fic in the near future.
> 
> My bingo card is in the series description, and the last square left to request if anyone wants to is "stealing the batmobile". 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/)


End file.
